


Peter Parker Really Fucking Hates Cilantro

by mttraspberrypie



Series: Tales of a Sweet Spider-Son and His Embarrassing Irondad [6]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Peter Parker is a Mess, Precious Peter Parker, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 18:49:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19729666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mttraspberrypie/pseuds/mttraspberrypie
Summary: Tony takes Peter to dinner after school, and learns something interesting, new, and educational about his kid.





	Peter Parker Really Fucking Hates Cilantro

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Just a heads up, this chapter has swearing. Happy reading!

When Tony looks at Peter, he feels a sense of pride he’s never felt before.

It’s not like when one of his creations he’s worked so hard on works- like his reaction to JARVIS.

It’s a sense of pride in the fact that Peter is Peter. He’s been Peter without Tony for so many years, filled with the urge to do good and help out. Despite everything, Peter perseveres, and always with a smile on his face.

Peter isn’t Tony’s kid- not by blood, at least. Then again, does blood really matter? Tony won’t admit it to anyone- still doesn’t want to admit it to himself- but he sees Peter as a son. He’s happy to be a part of his life.

So, when Tony picks Peter up from school, he’s happy to hear Peter babble on about his day, how Ned has a new Lego set, how he thinks he aced his Spanish quiz but he’s not sure if he got the bonus questions right.

Honestly?

Tony wouldn’t care if Peter got every question wrong on that quiz, as long as he tried his best.

And Tony knows Peter always does.

“I’m assuming you’re hungry, Underoos? With your fast as hell metabolism and all,” Tony glances at Peter as he drives- Peter’s in the passengers seat, seatbelt around him- and Peter nods with a smile that could light up all of Queens.

“I’m always hungry, Mr. Stark. There’s this new Italian place that opened up. I don’t think it’s far from here, so…” Peter trails off, and Tony knows he’s probably too anxious to ask if they can go. Peter tends to get like this over very small things, like asking if he can have something to drink, or where the bathroom is, or even taking things that are free to everyone- once, Peter had been too nervous to take a caramel from the bowl of candies on the desk in SI’s front lobby. Tony had bought him a whole bag of caramels, after reassuring him that, yes, he could take one, because they were quite literally for everyone.

Tony doesn’t mind helping Peter, reassuring him when he gets anxious. He wants Peter to know that it’s okay to ask for things, and wow, that sounds like something a TV dad would say. 

What A Very Special Episode Tony’s turning out to be.

“Sounds great, kid. What’s it called?” Tony asks.

Peter’s face lights up. “It’s… It’s actually called Tony’s.” he says with a shit-eating grin.

“Oh, I’ll be the judge of that.” Tony smirks.

***

The place is a literal hole in the wall.

As they sit down in a white and red checkered booth, Tony has to hold back the urge to call some interior decorators, stat- it is called Tony’s, after all, so shouldn’t he technically get a say in what the place looks like?

Peter looks happy, though, as he peruses the flimsy menus in front of them. Tony decides he’ll just order lasagna- every damn Italian place has it, including his mom’s kitchen when he was a kid.

Once Peter is done deciding what he wants, which takes forever and a day, they order- and, much to Tony’s surprise- not- they do have lasagna.

Peter orders fettuccine alfredo.

They talk while they wait- Tony tells Peter about some upgrades he’s considering making to his suit, which gets Peter all excited- and before they know it, their food is ready, and being placed in front of them.

Tony doesn’t waste any time taking a bite of his.

It’s mediocre.

“I’d give this a five out of ten. Definitely not good enough for a place called Tony’s.” Tony jokes, and then realizes Peter might get all flustered at the fact that Tony doesn’t like his food, insisting that it’s his fault because he suggested the place, which Tony isn’t going to let Peter do-

Peter isn’t doing anything of the sort.

Instead of going down his usual self-blaming spiral, he’s staring darkly down at his food. Instinctively, Tony looks down at the pasta- it looks normal. Kind of sloppily presented, if he’s being honest, but besides that, nothing’s wrong.

“You know, Peter, your food won’t bite you. It’s the other way around,” Tony says, and Peter looks up at him.

“Huh?”

“Something wrong, kid? You look like you just saw someone fall off a building.” Tony raises an eyebrow. 

“It’s nothing, Mr. Stark.” Peter mumbles, his face stony.

Tony’s not having it.

“If it’s nothing, then why do you look like someone just kicked your puppy?” Tony replies. And it really is weird, because just a minute ago Peter was talking about how excited he is for his next Decathlon meet, so why does he look so stoic now?

“It’s just…” Peter sighs, and suddenly, his eyes turn hard, as if he’s seen everything there is to see, tone as cold as ice itself, “Death. Death is all I see. Death is practically my birthright at this point. It’s inescapable. But what is death, Mr. Stark? Some see it as something to fear, a figure in the mist that you have to run from. Some see it as a long lost lover, maybe even a familial figure, someone you’d embrace. Some see it as a sin, a sign of failure, others see it as nothing at all, an absence of something, a lack, a null void that we will all inevitably succumb to. And the feelings death can strike in someone are even more indescribable, inconceivable. Is death love? Hate? Nothing? Death is a prayer, a scream, a laugh, a cry. Death is all around us, all consuming, in every second of our day, every conversation, action, breath, even. We build our lives, shape them, around death. We sculpt ourselves to be the best we can be before death comes to us, but how can we tell when it will come? Death doesn’t decide, death doesn’t think or ponder, it just acts freely without any limitations, attachments, or emotion. Death is death in it’s own right, death is everything and nothing, something to embrace and fear, to love and hate. And I see it everywhere I go. I smell it in the air on patrol, I feel it in the rain on my skin, I hear it in people’s sighs, I taste it in the water I drink, I see it in actions as mundane as shaking hands. I see so many things everywhere, Mr. Stark. I’ve seen so much. I’ve seen people fall in front of me, people flourish, gain hope and lose hope. I’ve seen so much, and yet there is still so much yet to experience, feel, see, everything. And I just can’t help but wonder, Mr. Stark, if death is a blessing, a curse, a divine punishment, or nothing. If death is as instinctual as breathing, first hand knowledge, something everyone knows, like walk, how to inhale and exhale, how to, how to. I really have seen some horrible things out there, Mr. Stark. But what I’ve seen now- it’s made me lose hope, Mr. Stark. This naive faith in everything, that every action is an input that will somehow lead to a positive output in the end, that everything matters, that it all ties up into a neat and precise knot in the end. But now I know- now I know the truth, from what I’ve seen. Do you want to know what I’ve seen, Mr. Stark?”

Tony is silent. His mouth is dry. Peter… what happened to Peter? He sounds so far away, so hardened. What could Peter have seen that made him this away, opposed to the bright and bubbly kid he usually always is?

Tony nods.

Peter takes a deep breath, and slowly gestures to his pasta. “I see… I see this FUCKING CILANTRO,”

What the fuck.

Tony doesn’t even know what to think, what to feel. Cilantro? Cilantro? How the fuck does cilantro tie into Peter’s whole emo, My So-Called Life, Shakespearean spiel that he’d been spouting with that frozen, destroyed look in his eyes, that montone Wednesday Addams voice?

“Cilantro? How the fuck… why the fuck-” Tony starts, but is cut off by Peter, who’s vpice is shaking with erupting passion, a pissed off expression, fire burning bright in his eyes.

“Because, Mr. Stark! Ever since I was little, I’ve always liked pasta, right? I’ve always ordered fettuccine alfredo! It’s my go-to order whenever I’m at a restaurant! And then some fucking genius-”

Tony feels the urge to correct Peter’s language- so this is how Cap feels- but knows it’s probably unwise to interrupt Peter, seeing as how passionate he’s getting, making almost violent hand gestures as he speaks.

“-some fucking genius decided to put cilantro on pasta! Like, why?! Why would you fucking do that?! Pasta already has arguably enough toppings, right, Mr. Stark?! Like, you already have sauce, and then parmesan cheese, and sometimes there’s a sprig of basil on top, or some mushrooms or meatballs or tomatoes or whatever, but fucking cilantro?! That does NOT belong on pasta! Like, who the fuck decided to put fucking cilantro on fucking pasta? It tastes like absolute, pure fucking shit! It’s crunch is honestly disgusting, it’s taste is like… like, the smell that you smell when someone fries celery, and-”

Tony’s never really felt mortified before. He’s done some pretty crazy, embarrassing stuff, but this is what breaks him. This. His kid just… ranting about cilantro in public.

Tony’s aged so much in these past few minutes.

“Why don’t you just… just take the cilantro off?” Tony groans, running his hands through his hair- which has probably considerably greyed during Peter’s whole speech about death and cilantro, which somehow ties in together.

“BECAUSE YOU CAN’T! NO ONE CAN!” Peter yells, and it seems like he’s not mad at Tony- just the cilantro, apparently, but still, it makes Tony jump a little. Tony quickly glances at Peter’s plate- sure enough, there’s tiny pieces of cilantro peppered across the pasta.

“They literally make it so tiny! And then they just spread it all around the pasta! And yeah, I could pick every individual piece off, but there’s so MUCH! So my pasta would just get COLD! And then I’d get sauce all over my hands! And then some people are like, ‘Why don’t you just use a napkin, Peter?’ BECAUSE IF PETER DID THAT, HE’D END UP JUST WIPING OFF ALL OF THE DAMN SAUCE, AND THEN THE PASTA WOULD JUST BE SAUCELESS! WHO THE FUCK WANTS SAUCELESS PASTA! And then, then! Then they say, ‘Oh, Peter, why don’t you just specify you don’t want cilantro?’ Because they never TELL YOU THERE’S GOING TO BE CILANTRO! It’s like, I look at the menu, I see pasta, and it always says, ‘pasta with sauce and cheese.’ It never says CILANTRO! So I never ASK TO HAVE IT TAKEN AWAY, BECAUSE IT NEVER MENTIONS THAT IT’S GOING TO BE THERE! And then, if I ask for them to just not include it, even though the DAMN MENU NEVER SAYS IT’S NEVER GOING TO BE INCLUDED, I feel like I’m wasting their time! Like, I’m sure they have other orders to take, and then they’re going to have to go out of their way to specify to the chefs to not put cilantro on! Even if they might not have been doing that already! You NEVER KNOW! IT’S A GAMBLE EVERY TIME!”

“Peter-”

“And I’m not going to just GO UP TO THE CHEF, and be like, ‘Hey, can you not put cilantro on my pasta even though the menu never said it would include cilantro in the first place? It’s just that sometimes they put it on even though they don’t tell you to put it on.’ Then I’m wasting their time! And I can’t just send the PLATE BACK or COMPLAIN ABOUT IT TO THE SERVER, because it’s not THEIR FAULT! All they’re trying to do is serve people’s food, it’s not like they were the ones who decided to put FUCKING CILANTRO ON! And it’s not the chef’s fault either, because they JUST WORK HERE! They’re following the recipe they were GIVEN, they didn’t decide to TARNISH anything! And it’s not the manager or the person who made the restaurant's fault either, because they weren’t the ones who had the idea to PUT CILANTRO ON PASTA! They just heard other people were doing it, and assumed it was the standard, so they did it too! So then I looked up, ‘who’s idea was it to put cilantro on pasta please help’ and all it gave me was fucking CILANTRO BASED RECIPES, and like, why would I want to CELEBRATE THE THING THAT FILLS ME WITH HATRED?! And then everyone goes, ‘Oh, Peter, why are you getting so mad over cilantro, you’re usually such a happy and positive person,’ and then Ned goes, ‘Oh, Peter, please, you’re going to spike your blood pressure,’ but no one understands, Mr. Stark! They’re OUT TO GET ME, MR. STARK!”

At this point, people are actually filming Peter’s rant with their phones. Tony’s feeling a mixture of shock at seeing sunshine-y Peter snap over something so trivial, and tiredness because, really, this isn’t the weirdest thing he’s seen, and that’s the sad part.

‘Peter… who’s… who’s they?” Tony sighs tiredly, rubbing his forehead. This is somehow worse than a hangover.

Peter’s standing up now, eyes filled with tears of rage and a crazed look.

“THE CILANTRO PEOPLE.”

Tony actually groans and slams his head against the table, not even caring that his drink spills all over the eco-friendly napkins they were so nicely provided.

***

When May opens her apartment door, she’s expecting it to be Tony and Peter, Tony with some snarky remark, there to drop Peter off.

This is, and isn’t, what happens.

It’s them, but different. Tony looks haggard, like he’s been in some sort of war and has lost all will and resolve to live.

In short, Tony looks like the epitome of death.

Peter has his usual sunbeam smile.

“Your nephew almost gave me a heart attack,” Tony says, his voice dead-tired sounding. He has a hand on Peter’s shoulder.

“We got ice cream!” Peter says happily. “Did you know Ben & Jerry’s named a flavor after Mr. Stark? It’s kind of chalky, though.”

“What happened?” May asks, letting them in. Really, though, she is curious, to see what could have made Tony look so done- in a way, he even looks sort of frightened, like he’s seen things.

“We went to this place for dinner. Italian. Peter got pasta. And there was… there was cilantro,” Tony recalls, looking as if he’s experiencing war flashbacks or something.

May takes off her glasses, rubbing her temples. She turns to face her nephew, who’s all smiles, and places both of her hands on his shoulders.

She stares into his eyes.

“Peter,” May sighs, with the exhaustion of someone who’s carried the weight of the world on their shoulders, “Peter, not again.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So, I know this chapter was... something else. I just have a lot of feelings about cilantro, and I felt Peter would too, so here we are- me projecting a lot!  
> Peter really snapped, huh?  
> Feel free to leave me prompts in the comments and at my tumblr, miactive. I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
